Not the most caring of approaches but better than nothing, Maura supposed. ‘And Zoe?’
Andy shrugged. ‘She’s definitely not playing tomorrow.’
‘I should hope not,’ she said ruefully. ‘Thanks, Andy. I hope Liam isn’t too heartbroken.’
He took a long draught of his pint and smacked his lips. ‘We’ll take him under our wing, don’t you fret.’
And they would, she knew. There was a real sense of community among the players, a camaraderie that meant they looked out for each other. Maura could only hope that Zoe had good friends of her own to support her, because it didn’t seem she wanted anything from Maura. Perhaps she thought her loyalties would lie with Liam and the rugby club. Or perhaps she wanted a clean break, and that meant sacrificing Maura’s friendship.
It seemed Kirsty had been right, which was annoying and reassuring in equal measure – whatever the reason for Zoe’s odd behaviour outside the department store, and her subsequent silence, it had nothing to do with Maura.
Chapter Three
There were any number of famous castles in the world – Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany with its fairy tale turrets, the gloriously Moorish Alhambra in Spain, or imposing Prague Castle overlooking the equally well-known Charles Bridge – but Fraser had always felt Edinburgh Castle to be the granddame of them all. It was not the oldest, although the rocky volcanic outcrop it occupied surely had a claim, but it was the most striking, especially when dressed in resplendent golden light and silhouetted against a dusky pink and blue twilight sky. If he’d been in charge of the set for that evening’s ghostly storytelling press preview, he would have arranged a blood-red sunset, but the castle still looked suitably atmospheric as he strode up Castlehill. And if the rehearsal he’d attended was anything to go by, it was going to be an evening to remember, for Fraser and for the foolhardy journalists who were brave enough to attend.
He paused at the gatehouse, rummaging in his pocket for his pass and glancing down to make sure his kilt was straight. The Bell family tartan was the Bell of the Borders – light blue criss-crossed by a multitude of black, red and yellow stripes – but he’d felt the colours were too cheery for the evening’s gore and instead, he’d opted for the more sombre darker blue and green of his grandfather’s Murray clan. He’d broken with tradition in other ways, too; it might be summer in Edinburgh but he wasn’t risking a chilly behind in the draughty castle vaults.
‘Back again?’ Callum said from behind the ticket booth window when Fraser showed his pass.
‘No rest for the wicked,’ Fraser replied. ‘Especially not tonight.’
‘I know.’ Callum gave a delighted shiver. ‘I’m off-duty soon and coming along to get scared half to death.’
Fraser smiled. There’d been a ballot among the staff to join the press evening – clearly Callum had been one of the lucky ones. ‘I’ll do my best.’ His gaze travelled to the papers on the desk in front of Callum. ‘Could you check my business partner is on the list, please? Her name is Maura McKenzie.’
‘Absolutely,’ Callum said as his finger trailed down the list. ‘Here she is. Does she tell ghost stories too?’
‘She’s a ghost maker,’ Fraser said, then saw the look of slight alarm on the other man’s face. ‘Small ones, from clay. She’s a potter, not a serial killer.’
Understanding dawned on Callum’s features. ‘In Edinburgh, anything is possible. Just ask Ian Rankin.’
Rankin was perhaps the city’s most prolific novelist, having written a plethora of books featuring his curmudgeonly detective, Rebus. Fraser had played the role of Thug #2 in the television adaptation of one of the books. It had indeed featured a serial killer who was stalking Edinburgh’s shadows.
‘Thanks for checking Maura’s on the list,’ he said to Callum. ‘I guess I’ll see you later, in the vaults.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ Callum said. ‘Ewan is waiting for you in the Great Hall. I’m sure you know the way by now.’
‘I do,’ Fraser confirmed, and set off along the cobbles. For his own ghost tours around the city, Fraser did not wear a costume, but he’d contemplated adding a heavy black cloak for the castle event. In the end, though, he’d decided against it. The cloak was long, reaching almost to the floor, and a stumble on one of the unforgiving stone staircases might result in him becoming one of the castle’s ghosts. With luck, the sight of his knees protruding from the tartan of his kilt would be just as terrifying as the cloak.
‘You’re looking splendidly Scottish,’ Ewan McRae said as he greeted Fraser at the entrance of the Great Hall and took in his traditional garb. ‘Ready to wow the esteemed members of the press?’
‘Absolutely,’ Fraser replied, glancing sideways at Catriona, who would be accompanying him around the castle, making sure he followed the agreed route and stuck to the schedule. She had gone for a dramatic black cloak, he observed, but had sensibly chosen one that posed no threat of tripping her up, and held an old-fashioned lantern on a pole.
‘They’ll congregate here for pre-tour drinks and canapés at seven o’clock,’ Catriona said. ‘The tour is due to start at seven forty-five and we’ll return here afterwards for a short reception.’
‘Where I’m sure you’ll be roundly congratulated and lauded,’ Ewan added. ‘Doors close at ten, but of course you’re free to leave once your storytelling duties are complete.’
Fraser nodded. He had no intention of passing up the opportunity to mingle with people who could help publicise Dead Famous, even if he wasn’t representing the company that evening. And besides, Maura would be there. He wanted to introduce her to as many people as he could. ‘Do you want me there for the pre-tour drinks? Or would you rather I made a grand entrance?’
Ewan gave a shrug. ‘Up to you. For the public tour, we’ll keep you out of sight, but this evening is more relaxed. It might be nice to mingle, if you’re up for that?’
It was exactly what Fraser had been hoping for. ‘Very much so.’
‘Great,’ Ewan said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’ll leave you in Catriona’s capable hands for now. See you here at seven.’ With a final nod that encompassed them both, he strode across the room.
Catriona smiled at Fraser. ‘I thought you might like somewhere quiet to sit,’ she said, ushering him towards a door that he knew led to a vaulted stone corridor. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
He tapped a pocket. ‘I’ve got some water, thanks. But it would be great to drop my coat off, and run through the order one last time.’
